


tonight let's be lovers

by checkmate



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Teacher!Bruce, kid!Peter, pepper and rhodey spoil peter sO MUCH, specifically Tony's kid, tony stark is a magnet for drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkmate/pseuds/checkmate
Summary: “Tony, come on. You deserve a night off and I don’t even want to think about how long it’s been since you got any di—“ Pepper stopped, as if she just remembered she was in the presence of an impressionable six year old, and corrected herself smoothly. Peter didn’t even notice the quick change of tack. “Time to yourself.”  Or, Tony accidentally has a one night stand with his son's first grade teacher.





	

It had been six years since Tony Stark last found himself in the dark, sweaty world of Manhattan night clubs.  

He knew this was a fact, because Peter turned six just the previous week, and constant relentless childcare didn’t leave much time for partying. On the rare occasion Tony got a night to himself, all he wanted to do was catch up on sleep or Netflix, not get drunk and dance with strangers. ‘Aunt Pepper and Uncle Rhodey’ however whisked his son away for a weekend of fun belated birthday treats and an instruction for him to go out and get laid.  

Not even in a playful thinly veiled way either. Pepper literally told him that he needed to go out and get laid.

And, well… there wasn’t much use in arguing with Pepper. “We can handle him just fine.” She told him firmly, prising Peter’s fingers away from his father’s (or more accurately, prising Tony’s fingers away from Peter’s). “Tony, come on. You deserve a night off and I don’t even want to _think_ about how long it’s been since you got any di—“ She stopped, as if she just remembered she was in the presence of an impressionable six year old, and corrected herself smoothly. Peter didn’t even notice the quick change of tack. “Time to yourself.”  

Tony snorted, finally allowed Pepper to separate the two of them and watched as she hoisted Peter up into her arms. He snuggled against her chest, smiling brightly at her in full knowledge he’d probably get more junk food and bad television that night than he would with Tony in a month. “Fine. Fine. Be good for your Aunt Pepper and Uncle Rhodey, okay buddy?” He said, leaning over to plant a kiss on Peter’s forehead. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t.” He promised solemnly, but Tony didn’t miss the wink he exchanged with Rhodey when he thought Tony had looked away.  

Tony turned back to them, grinning despite himself. “Thanks for this, guys.” He said. “How do I look?”  

“Dashing.” She said immediately. “And not a single puke or food stain on that shirt.”  

“A triumph.” He said, his voice maintaining a deadpan that had great experience when it came to handling Pepper. “I’ll see you tomorrow, little guy.” Tony said to Peter, holding his hand out for a high-five (which Peter just about met with his little pudgy fingers) before Tony made his way back down to the lobby of Pepper’s block. It felt weird, having a night off from father duties, and a part of him ached at the thought of leaving his son anywhere, even if it was only a few hours and with his best friends.  

Tony’s years of absence from the New York City night life scene had left him with no idea of where to go, of what was cool, of which places were going to make him look like one of those creepy old guys hanging around aiming to pick up barely legal co-eds. He ended up calling a cab and getting recommendations from the driver, figuring that if it turned out to be a total dive there were bound to be other places nearby, and ended up in a relatively short queue for a basement club that looked innocuous enough, and wasn’t full of nineteen year olds with bad fake IDs. This was okay. He could handle this. A few drinks, and if he hated it, he still had a season and a half of _Orange is the New Black_ waiting to be watched back home instead.

Tony made it inside after paying a cover charge that felt kind of like a robbery, and cautiously made his way down a flight of unpleasantly sticky stairs to the main bar and dance floor. The pulsating lights hit him instantly, blinding him for a moment as he adjusted to the new surroundings. Music blasted so loud from the speakers on every surface that his entire body throbbed to the pounding bass, and Tony got swallowed into the writhing crowd within seconds, pulled out by a tide of people jumping and dancing, all drunk out of their minds.  

That said, Tony wasn’t sure you could call this borderline inappropriate genital grinding “dancing”. He was pretty sure there was a guy to his right getting jerked off on the dance floor, but he had no desire to look back and find out for certain. Maybe he missed the idea of night clubs more than their grim reality, or maybe they’d just changed. Or maybe _he’d_ changed. What a terrifying thought.

Yeah, there was no way he was anywhere near drunk enough for this. It didn’t take much to get him tipsy these days. Fatherhood being a pretty good motivator to halt his drinking problem before it made it all the way to full blown alcoholism was one thing, but he barely had the time, or the inclination, to get drunk since Peter arrived in his life. Now, a beer or two with friends was enough to make him feel slightly woozy. Sometimes, it made a nice change though, just let loose and not worry about stepping on Lego bricks or dealing with the fact that every floor in the house ends up sticky even when he’s _just mopped_ —

The crowd at the bar was surprisingly small, and Tony got to the front quicker than he expected to. “Hey.” He said to the bar man, relieved to be back closer to his comfort zone. He even managed to find a stool and sat down, asked for a double rum and coke, because any real alcohol in this place probably wouldn’t be worth drinking neat, and settled in to people watch for a while, trying to find his bearings before throwing himself full force into a world he definitely didn’t belong in any more. He took a long drink as soon as the glass slid in front of him, and Tony grimaced. It was as bad as he remembered, sticky and too sweet, but he didn’t really care. A far cry from his old preferred taste of hard liquor, from the shot of fire burning as it slid down his throat, but it was booze all the same, and nothing soothed his nerves quite like a drink.  

He pulled out his phone, checking the screen for messages more out of habit than concern, but no flashing LEDs lit up to distract him from the brighter lights of the dance floor. Not a word from Pepper, total radio silence. Peter was fine, probably long asleep by now; he had no reason to worry.

Everything was fine. Relax. Have a good time.

“You won’t get any signal down here.” Someone said just loudly enough for Tony to hear over the music, clear enough for him to be confident that the stranger was, in fact, talking to him. He looked to his right to where the voice had come from, and was greeted with a guy probably a few years younger than him, an easy smile, and a mop of curly brown hair falling slightly into his eyes.

Tony opened his mouth to reply but his brain gave out, like he’d forgotten every word in the English language. Needless to say, the guy was cute as hell, even committing to wearing a leather jacket in a club despite the fact it was about a million degrees and Tony felt like he might melt in just a shirt. “Huh?” He said, fully aware of how dumb the long delay between the two halves of the exchange made him look, and hoped, prayed, that this stranger would chalk that up to the pounding music (and possibly intoxication) rather than just pure idiocy.

The man laughed slightly, and indicated at Tony’s phone, resorting to mime over yelled speech believing that Tony couldn’t hear him in the noise. “If you’re meeting someone, you’re better to wait upstairs. You won’t get any messages through down here.” He shouted when Tony continued to just stare at him blankly. A look of concern flitted across the guy’s face, probably thinking Tony was a complete idiot, but he managed to snap out of the surprise of seeing probably the cutest guy he’d seen in _years_ in time to respond with a rapid shake of his head before the stranger gave up completely.  

“Not waiting for anyone!” He yelled quickly, hoping the darkness broken only by the coloured strobes darting across the room would hide the pink blush he knew was spreading across his face right now. The guy nodded, gave him a tight smile and turned towards the bar man, waving slightly to catch his attention.  

Tony panicked. He didn’t even remember how to flirt. God damn it, the first attractive person he had met socially in years and he made a total fool of himself. He used to be a pro at this, flirting, picking people up in questionable bars with a glance, a dance and a trademark Tony Stark smirk. Now he couldn’t even formulate a sentence without tripping over his own tongue.  

What had fatherhood done to him?

The man caught the bar tender’s attention, eventually, and ordered a beer. Not that Tony was listening in, except he totally was. “It’s on me.” He blurted, grabbing the stranger’s arm desperately. Oh god.  

This was only going from bad to worse.

He smiled that damn beautiful easy smile once more, surveying Tony with slight amusement. That was a safe-ish place to start, right? That was an ‘I’m interested in you so please shoot me down now if you are straight and/or the interest is not reciprocated’ kind of place to start? The guy thought it over for a second or two, before shrugging to the bar tender. Tony scrambled to pull a handful of dollars from his pocket, shoving them across the bar as he attempted to ignore his heart racing in his chest. Okay. Flirting. He could do this. At least the stranger was interested (or he was just a douchebag out for free drinks, which was a definite possibility. It had happened to Tony before.) He’d got another drink for himself too, starting to really regret picking rum and coke as his beverage of choice for the evening as Hottie McHotpants laughed slightly under his breath.  

“I’m Bruce.” He yelled after a moment’s delightfully awkward pause, taking a long drink of his beer. The music coming from the dance floor behind them lulled for a moment, changing from a crashing cacophony of throbbing bass to something a little more mellow and much more conducive to conversation.

“Tony.” He shouted back, smiling in relief as the tension broke between them. “I promise I don’t usually drink such… college student-y alcoholic beverages.” Tony joked, pleased when that elicited a chuckle from Bruce. He reached out, plucked Tony’s drink right from his hand and lifted it to his lips.  

“Nice to meet you, Tony.” He took a quick drink, humming with satisfaction. “God, it’s so bad and it’s so good.” He remarked, more to himself than to Tony, but his smile was mischievous, teasing. This hadn’t been the plan. He wasn’t supposed to meet anyone at this shithole club—he was just supposed to get drunk and relax and have some fun. But there was something about Bruce, that animal instinct that only existed in shit holes like this, the kind of instant attraction that made meeting someone and going home with them two hours later seem like a sensible thing to do.  

Shit, he needed another drink. Or possibly to stop drinking. He knew his tolerance had decreased over the years but this was just starting to take the piss.  

“You want to dance?” Tony asked as soon as he lifted his glass to his mouth and found it empty, ignoring his heart pounding in his chest. This was just getting embarrassing now; even Bruce laughed out loud, and shit _shit_ fuck how can flirting-with-strangers etiquette have changed so much in seven fucking years?

“Is that what you do with your dates in the eighties?” Bruce teased. “I guess it’s important to keep up your classical training in ballroom dancing.”

Tony, not sure what to make of that, pretended not to hear. “Hm? Come on, Brucey. I love this song. Let’s dance.”  

He did not, in fact, love this song. Tony had never heard this song. Tony wasn’t even sure this abuse of the human ear could even possibly be classified as a song. Bruce called him out on his bullshit, but downed the remains of his beer and allowed himself to be pulled over to the dancefloor. It was louder than Tony could comprehend, the air sticky from sweat, and something around him somewhere smelled worryingly of urine, but none of that really surprised him. Nightclubs don’t change that much in six years after all.  

“I’m just messing with you, Tony.” Bruce smiled, and Tony realised with a jolt that they were still holding hands. He dropped it awkwardly, hoping and praying that Bruce couldn’t see him blushing in the darkness. He used to be good at this. He used to be a fucking master, able to pull girls and guys alike from across the dancefloor with only a look. Now he couldn’t even hold a sensible conversation.

Maybe that was it. Maybe the conversation is the problem. He was getting too emotional in his old age.  

Of twenty nine.  

Fuck.

“Tony?” Bruce shouted, but Tony could barely hear him over the music pounding. “You okay? I was only kidding—”

Tony tried to dance along to the music, lose himself in the beat like he used to, pre-Peter, but apparently most of his dancing ability was actually just pure _drunkenness_ , and he struggled to recreate any of his old trademark moves on just one rum and coke. They certainly didn’t have the success rate they used to, since when he looked over at Bruce, the guy was barely managing to stifle his laughter.  

“What?” Tony said, stopping still in the dancefloor as his defences went up abruptly, feeling weirdly vulnerable by just how obviously out of place he was. Part of him was surprised that Bruce hadn’t given up on him for some other easier, less awkward fish in the sea.

He grinned, poked Tony until he started to move again, and guided him in some kind of weird half ass grind half bouncing around on the balls of his feet that the entire dance floor seemed to be engaged in. Tony smiled back, but it looked somewhat forced, since this mindless bobbing took way more concentration than it might appear just to avoid colliding with the other bodies pressing ever closer on every jump.  

It occurred to Tony that he might be the only one with this concern as a guy twice his size and five times as drunk completely mistimed his jump, almost comically in fact, and clattered into him at full, inebriated force. Tony went flying, toppling over before he could right himself, but just as he braced himself for a solid and painful impact with the sticky, alcohol drenched floor, he found himself halted by a pair of strong, leather clad arms, a large hand supporting the small of his back. Tony looked up awkwardly, overly aware of his proximity to Bruce and also to the fact he was practically being _dipped_ in the grossest nightclub known to man.  

“Um.” He said, attributing the drop of sweat he could feel beading at his forehead to the sweltering interior and not anything else. Bruce, realising he had been holding Tony much longer than was strictly necessary, righted him immediately but didn’t remove his hands from their compromising position. “S-Sorry?” He tried, ignoring his heart racing (from adrenaline, for _God’s_ sake _)_. Bruce said something in reply but his words were swallowed by a well timed crash of noise from the sound system, and the guy wasn’t letting go—the opposite, in fact, as his large hand pulled Tony in closer, nearly making him lose his balance again in the process.  

Was Tony reading this right? Fuck, people moved quickly these d— _oh god damn it Bruce was a good kisser._  

He’d forgotten just what it was about making out with strangers in clubs that he’d found so appealing in his youth, but this… yeah, this took him back. Even relatively sober, that raw, animal instinct of two people with no commitment, no pressure, was unparalleled. Bruce pulled away after just a moment or two, snagging Tony’s bottom lip with his teeth as he did, watching his face for any sign of total and abject disgust.  

Tony was pretty sure Bruce wouldn’t find any, his eyes wide and a situation already making itself known in his pants. God, this was just embarrassing. He was a fucking _natural_ at this six years ago. What the hell happened? Well, he supposed it was his being a natural at this six years ago that meant he now has a six year old son, but that totally wasn’t the point. The point was, he could do this without acting like he’d never so much as seen another man before. Not every one night stand led to an unplanned pregnancy, and well… the odds seemed pretty low on pregnancy with this one.

Tony deserved this. Deserved to cut loose and have a fun, no strings attached night with a guy he’ll probably never see again. He had earned it, damn it, and even better, there was no risk of Peter bursting in with a nightmare just when the going got good. These opportunities didn’t come around that often.  

“You okay?” Bruce asked, stepping back as his smirk dropped a little in concern, and Tony realised he’d probably been zoned out for a solid fifteen seconds like an idiot.  

He hastily pulled Bruce back towards him, making sure his feelings were nothing less than unequivocal. “I’m awesome.” Tony said, and closed the gap with another kiss, touching his fingers to the short curls at the nape of Bruce’s neck. He led more this time, trying to prove that he did know what he was doing really, that he was just slightly taken by surprise the first time. But as much as it pained him to admit it, Bruce was more of a natural than he had ever been. It was well balanced, not just some loser drunkenly shoving their tongue down his neck, way better than an intoxicated make out session on a crowded sweaty dancefloor on a Friday night had any right to be.

Tony pulled away eventually, gulping down a lungful of air and pretending that he still actually had his shit together. Bruce didn’t look particularly convinced, judging by the sizeable smirk he shot Tony’s way. “More drinks?” He offered, shouting loudly over the music, and Tony nodded without hesitation, fully aware of just how sober he was compared to everyone else here, Bruce included. He followed close behind, impressed at the confident way Bruce manoeuvred the throngs of party goers crushing in from every direction, and made it off the dance floor and back towards the bar easily, shoving a few people out of the way to get to the front quickly.  

These were the kind of important life skills Tony had missed out on. Damn.  

Barely five minutes passed before Bruce handed over two shot glasses filled to the brim with clear liquor to Tony, two more for himself in his hands. He looked at them doubtfully, not sure how responsible downing two shots of neat vodka could possibly be when he’d hardly had more than a single beer in one sitting in over a year, but Bruce already raised one shot in a toast to God knows what and Tony stopped thinking too much, tipping the liquid into his mouth and swallowing before he had a chance to spit it out.  

God he’d forgotten how foul neat vodka was. He spluttered slightly, his face screwing up as the alcohol burned his throat, but Bruce was lining up the next one. “Last one?” Tony said, trying not to embarrass himself by looking like a total lightweight but equally not embarrassing himself by getting shitfaced in about twenty minutes and throwing up in an alleyway like a teenager taking his fake ID out for a spin.  

Bruce laughed, clearly thinking Tony was joking, and tapped his shot glass against Tony’s, causing some of the liquid to spill out onto his hand. Tony prepared himself, swallowed the shot, and slammed the plastic glass back on to the bar. The second one was no way near as bad, but his mouth felt numb and his throat on fire. Bruce barely winced as he drank his shots, smacking his lips as he set it down.  

“You want a smoke?” He offered, pulling a packet from his jacket pocket.  

Tony shook his head. Alcohol was one thing, but he’d never been a smoker. He had nothing against it, per se, but it didn’t agree with him. That was what he told people anyway, to save his pride; the truth was his one and only drag of his life sent him into a coughing fit so bad he nearly puked, and that kind of put him off for life. “You go ahead though.” He said hastily, and followed Bruce out to the smoking area, pressing through the crowds of bodies on all sides.  

It wasn’t much quieter outside, but it was much colder, even if the air turned thick with second hand smoke. “Don’t drink, don’t smoke… definitely don’t dance.” Bruce teased, pulling a single cigarette from the packet and slotting it between his lips. “What are you doing here exactly?”  

Tony blushed, and then blushed more when he realised that they were outside now, lit by bright unflattering lights, and Bruce could see his blushing far easier than he could inside. He didn’t know how to respond without a) looking like a total loser or b) blurting out to this random stranger who he’d actually quite like to at least make out with that he had a six year old son.  

Nothing screamed boner killer like a kid in the picture.  

He played it safe, shrugged it off, and hoped Bruce would go with it. Tony tried not to stare at Bruce’s mouth too much as he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, tried not to fixate on the smoke billowing from his lips as he blew out. The smoke, pale white and heady-scented, curled in the air, mingling with the steam of Tony’s breath in the fall night. He just watched Bruce puff on the rapidly shrinking cigarette, finally dropping it on a floor littered with fag ends and scuffing it out with his foot.  

“I don’t usually like smoking, but you somehow elevate it to a damn art form.” Tony said before he could cut off the connection between his brain and his mouth, and immediately regretted his words when Bruce chuckled at him.  

“I don’t usually go for lines like that, but you somehow make it not entirely lame.” He shot back.  

“You want to go back in and dance?” Tony asked, desperately trying to change the subject before he embarrassed himself any further. Something about being outside in the harsh bright light and the cold breeze sobering him up more and more every second made Tony feel more aware, more vulnerable than in the shadowy, hot sanctuary of the club. Bruce looked him over, smiled to himself, and checked his watch.  

“We could.” He said finally, dropping each word with practised ease as suggestion oozed from his tone. “Or we could… get out of here?”

Tony scrambled to get in control of his mouth before he blew it. “You mean…” He said, hoping the slight tremor in his voice was apparently only to him. “Uh.”  

“Come on, Tony, the terminology can’t have changed that much since the sixties.” Bruce teased, grasping him by the wrist and pulling him firmly back into the press of bodies inside. The pounding music actually helped him process, in some ways, allowed him to ignore everything else around him in favour of the tuneless percussion heavy drivel playing from the DJ booth. He didn’t plan for this. He'd never even considered the possibility of picking someone up (although arguably Bruce had picked _him_ up—now there was a guy who knew exactly what he wanted) and now he faced the very real chance of not only getting laid for the first time in—he didn’t want to consider just how long it had been—but having sex with the cutest guy he’d seen in years. A guy who had no idea about Peter, someone who actually saw him as a sexual being and not just someone to give pitying parenting advice and/or casseroles to.  

There was no way he was gonna let himself fuck this up. “Your place or mine?” He asked, trying to sound confident, like he did this every night.

“Your place empty?” He asked, and Tony nodded, trying not to feel too guilty about foisting Peter off on his friends. “Then yours.” Bruce said immediately. “My roommate probably wouldn’t appreciate all the noise.”

“You’re a screamer, huh?”

“Not really.” Bruce said without missing a beat, the confidence oozing from him so much it was practically tangible in the air. He leant in closer, speaking right into Tony’s ear. “But you can bet your ass you’ll be screaming my name so loud they’ll hear it in Brooklyn.”  

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a one shot but it ran away with me and is no longer a oneshot I hope y'all don't mind too much ❤❤
> 
> You can hit me up on tumblr [here](http://scibros.tumblr.com) so pls come yell at me about Tony Stark and Bruce Banner


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